


Something Wicked

by PaperDaydream



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Angst, Cas is accused of witchcraft, F/M, John Winchester's A+ Parenting, M/M, Protective Castiel, Protective Dean Winchester, Puritans, Salem Witch Trials, mass hysteria, somewhat homophobic town but really just wiccaphobia and paranoia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-14
Updated: 2014-09-22
Packaged: 2018-02-18 08:53:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,540
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2342516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PaperDaydream/pseuds/PaperDaydream
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel was not a witch. He was not. He didn't even believe in witches. But Dean Winchester was definitely not a witch, so somebody had to be to blame.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Fair is Foul and Foul is Fair

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, lovely readers~  
> The journey you are about to embark on is dark, and none too pleasant. It takes place in 1692 in Salem, Massachusetts, the setting of the infamous Salem witch trials.  
> Now, I'm going to ask you to bear in mind that this is historical fiction, fiction being the key word, so although I tried to drop many historical tidbits in there, clearly not everything is going to be perfectly accurate. I apologize. I am a high school student who got too enthusiastic about her studies and wrote a fanfiction based on the current topic of learning at school over the course of two days, not a historian. Feel free to politely call me out on anything though.  
> I am also, as you probably should have guessed, not the owner of the show Supernatural. Sorry. This is a work by a fan, for fans, for zero profit, and I neither claim ownership of the franchise nor claim to reflect any of the views of the show's creators.  
> Yes, the title and chapter titles are references to Shakespeare's Macbeth.  
> With that said, enjoy, if that is indeed the right word.

_Fair is foul, and foul is fair: Hover through the fog and filthy air. -Macbeth, Act 1 Scene 1_

* * *

Castiel was not a witch. He was not. He didn't even believe in witches. But Dean Winchester was definitely not a witch, so somebody had to be to blame.

They’d been caught kissing. “The work of the Devil” said the townspeople, who all knew in what seemed like minutes. Surely though, surely not Dean Winchester! Not the son of the respected and devout, hardworking _John_ Winchester! But Castiel Novak had always been odd. Did it not seem possible that he was associating with dark and evil spirits; that Dean had merely been under his spell? Dark times were upon Salem, after all. Death and illness tore through the streets, religion ruled with an iron fist, and nobody dared to take a step out of line, in fear of losing their seat among the Elect, and among the living. It was 1692, and they were Puritans, and they would simply not stand for any sinful mischief, or anything different. To be different meant to not conform, and everyone had to conform to God. If you didn't… well. You couldn't be allowed to corrupt anyone else, now could you?

They were inside now, waiting for the inevitable, hand in hand. John Winchester would still be out taking care of business, and Sam Winchester was out with Jessica Moore, so Dean’s house was blissfully empty. But not too blissfully. There was no space between the houses in Salem. A few feet away sat the windows of the neighbors, through which they were ever watching for a slip-up of even the smallest kind. Now they would be watching even closer…. Dean released Castiel’s hand to go and draw the blue linen curtains shut, well-aware that it would probably be called out as suspicious. It didn't matter. They needed this moment to themselves.

Castiel’s face dropped into his hands, and his shoulders shook slightly, although he scarcely made a sound.

“Hey,” Dean whispered, coming back over to sit beside him again on the hand carved wooden table, “You okay?”

He shook his head. No. Why would he be? He had maybe a few hours left. Why would he ever be okay?

Dean let out a long, angry sigh. “This sucks.”

Cas made no response, just shook his head again, disbelieving.

“I just… I can’t believe this. How could they do this to us? We didn't do anything wrong!” he cried, punching the table so hard it shook.

“We shouldn't have been out in public together,” Castiel whispered into his hands, “We should have been more careful…”

“We _should_ be able to kiss wherever we like!” Dean snapped, “This is ridiculous.”

He shook his head again, helplessly. “We knew what times are like, Dean. We knew what people are like.”

“Well, tough. They’re not going to lay a hand on you,” he snarled, “You aren't a witch! I mean, how dumb is that?! You’re completely innocent!”

Cas laughed darkly, raising his head only to look away. “And you think that matters?”

“It should!”

He sighed. “Reason doesn't work on them, Dean. They’re scared. Everyone’s scared. If someone says I’m a witch, then a witch I will be.”

There was silence for a moment as Dean got up and paced the room, running a hand down his face as he tried to stave off panic. “We can’t stay here, Cas. We have to go. We should have gone a long time ago.”

“Go?” Cas asked, frowning, “Where?”

“I don’t know. Pennsylvania. Rhode Island. Anywhere. Anywhere but here.”

He thought for a moment, almost hopeful, before he looked away. “I don’t want to go, Dean. I don’t want to make you go. This is the only home we've ever known. Besides, it’s too late anyway. They know. They won’t let us leave.”

Dean turned his face to look at him, blinking back tears. “What then? What? Because I’m not just going to let this happen!”

Cas only shook his head. “It’s too late.”

Dean’s eyes widened. “No, Cas… Please. Anything.”

 “There’s still the trial,” he sighed, if only to appease him.

“The trial’s rigged. Everyone gets convicted.”

Castiel shrugged. “Yes.”

“Dammit Cas, I’m not going to let you die!”

He flinched. “Dean. You shouldn't say such things. What if somebody heard you say that? I don’t want you to hang with me.”

“What? Dammit?” Dean asked, watching as he flinched again, “Is that it? Well, I don’t care! If they do this, they all deserve to be damned!”

“Dean…” he hissed, eyes flickering to the windows, “Calm yourself.”

“NO!” he screamed, “I WILL NOT CALM MYSELF! I’M NOT GOING TO LET THEM KILL YOU BECAUSE OF ME!”

“No, Dean,” Cas whispered, “It’s not your fault-”

 “How is this not my fault? I pursued you first! I kissed you!”

Cas took a deep, shuddery breath, closing his eyes. “Dean…”

“Well it is!” he cried, “And now you’re going to hang, because I couldn't just leave you alone!”

Cas grabbed his arm, stopping his pacing. “Dean,” he said firmly, “Stop it. Stop this. This is not your fault. I don’t want you to leave me alone! This is my fault as much as yours.”

“No,” he whispered, putting a hand on his shoulder, “No… It’s not your fault, Cas…”

“Yes it is,” he sighed, staring at the wooden floor, “And now your reputation has been damaged too.”

“You think I care about my reputation?” Dean laughed, astounded, “I don’t. I don’t care what they think of me, Cas; I just want you to be safe.”

“Don’t worry about me,” he said softly, still not meeting his eyes.

“I do,” he replied firmly, “I do worry about you. I’m not going to let you die.”

“No Dean,” he said, “You have to give up on me. Just… Just be careful out there. Don’t try to start a fight, or get revenge. They’ll kill you too. You need to keep your head down. If you died because of me, I don’t think I could take it.”

“Then how do you think I feel?” he growled, releasing his shoulders to walk a few steps away, crossing his arms.

“I told you, I don’t blame you,” Cas reminded him, raising an eyebrow, “But I will blame you if you get yourself killed trying to defend me.”

“Witches don’t even exist,” Dean muttered, “Look at how many have died.”

He winced, remembering the noose hanging victorious with his brother Samandriel. “I know…”

“Please?” Dean whispered, “Can’t we at least try to leave?”

He shook his head. “You still have a life here, Dean, so long as you don’t do anything foolish. Nobody is blaming you.”

“Then can you leave?” he asked, eyes pleading, “At least try to save yourself!”

He hesitated, but shook his head. “The less of a fuss I make, the less suspicion will fall on you and my brothers. I have to take this, Dean.”

“No,” he argued, “No, you don’t have to-” but he was cut off by the squeal of the door as it swung open, revealing a tall figure.

“Dean…” the man growled, “What did you do?”

Dean looked away, suddenly appearing very small. “Hello, Father.”

John Winchester stormed through the door, pushing past Castiel to shove his son violently into the wall. “What did you do?” he repeated, yelling in his face.

“N-nothing, sir…” Dean lied, voice shaking.

“Oh really?!” John snapped, “Is that why the whole town is talking about how my boy got involved with witchcraft?!”

Dean winced. “It wasn't witchcraft, sir. It had nothing to do with that.”

“Then how do you explain this, Dean?” he roared, “Did you just _try_ to destroy the family name? We’re going up in ashes!”

“I… I’m sorry…” he whimpered.

“It’s not enough to be sorry!” he yelled, “The Moores won’t even take Sam’s proposal now, and you’re _sorry?”_

Dean’s eyes grew wide. “No… Sammy…! I had no idea…”

His father struck him across the face. “I can’t believe you, Dean! A good boy, with a good, respectable family, and you go and associate with outcasts like _him?”_ He indicated Cas with a venomous glare. “Everyone knows he’s a freak!”

Castiel flinched, but made no move to defend himself. “My apologies, Mr. Winchester.”

Dean’s eyes hardened. “Hey, there’s no need to lash out at Cas! Leave him alone!”

“No reason…!” John laughed harshly, “He almost got you _killed,_ boy! And nobody’s going to see us the same after this!”

“He didn't do anything!” Dean argued, furiously, “It’s all my fault, I-!”

“No, Mr. Winchester, you’re right,” Cas cut him off, resolutely avoiding Dean’s gaze, “I did this. It’s my fault. I bewitched him.”

The Winchesters froze. _“What?”_

He shrugged. “It’s true. I did this. Dean is completely innocent. He was under my… dark powers.”

“Cas!” Dean hissed, horrified, “What are you doing?”

“What does it look like I’m doing?” he asked, raising his head to stare at him, blue eyes pleading, “I’m telling the truth, Dean.”

“No,” Dean gasped, “Stop it! Cas, you didn't-”

“Is that the truth?” John asked Cas, eyeing him warily.

“It is, sir,” he said quietly, holding his gaze, “I swear on my life.”

John’s eyes narrowed. “I see.”

“NO!” Dean yelled, pushing past him to rush to Castiel’s side, “No! Stop it! Please! Can’t you see he’s lying? He’s just trying to protect me! You can’t believe what he’s saying! He didn't do anything!”

John raised an eyebrow, but Castiel stared back at him with an icy resolve. “You’re really going to believe him? I could be influencing his words, even now.”

“ _Cas!”_ Dean gasped, grabbing onto him, “No! Don’t do this! You’ll condemn yourself!”

“I am aware of my actions,” he said wryly, still looking at John.

The man nodded slowly, holding his gaze. “I don’t know why you bother arguing, Dean, he’s already confessed.”

“He’s _lying!”_ Dean screamed, “He doesn't even believe in witches! _I_ kissed _him!_ If you’re going to hang anyone, hang me!”

Castiel closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. “See how easy it is for me to influence his words? Would actions be any harder?”

John tensed up, grabbing for the gun above his fireplace. “Now stop it. You stop it! Let go of him!” he yelled, voice shaking slightly.

“He doesn't have me!” Dean cried, “Father, please! You have to believe me! Leave him alone!”

“Now stop that, Dean,” Cas said coldly, “I think your father is perfectly aware of whom the evil one is here. After all, _his_ son would never associate with witchcraft. That would be so… disrespectable. It’s a good thing Dean is clean.”

John nodded slowly, hefting the gun higher. “A good thing indeed. He would never purposefully rope himself in with monsters like you.”

Dean looked at him in horror. “NO! Don’t blame him for this! You can’t! If he was really a witch, why would he confess?”

John frowned, although he didn't dare to lower the gun. “He does have a point there.”

“I…” Cas said slowly, desperately searching for some sort of argument, “I want recognition! My powers are great, as you can see.”

“Working with the Devil is not great!” John snapped, “You’re going to release my son, and you’re going to hang on Earth and burn in Hell!”

Dean’s eyes widened. “No! _Please!_ Don’t condemn Cas! We’re the only chance he’s got! We have to defend him!”

“No,” Cas said gravelly, “You don’t.”

John gulped, then gathered his resolve, scowling at him. “Now you listen here, witch! You’re not getting away with anything! I’m going to call the Witchfinder right now!”

Cas nodded, avoiding Dean’s gaze. “You do that.”

“You will die for your sins!” he yelled, guarding his exit with his gun.

“Make sure you mention how it was all me, and not Dean!” Cas called after him.

“NO!” Dean yelled, “STOP! You’re condemning an innocent man!”

Cas watched as John slammed the door shut, tracking his progress through the front window as he ran down the street to assemble the inevitable mob. “Well. Even you know that’s a lie,” he reminded Dean with a small smirk when he was sure his father was out of earshot, “I did kiss you back.”

Dean shook his head, staring at him with wide eyes full of disbelief. “Cas…! They’ll never let you off now…!”

“I know. But now nobody will suspect you.”

Dean let out a heavy, ill-concealed sob, hand clasped over his mouth. “Oh my God…” he whispered, tears streaming down his face.

Cas shook his head, sadly. “I’m sorry.”

Dean enveloped him in his arms, pulling him close so he could cry into his shoulder.

Castiel broke, burying his face in Dean’s chest as he finally let loose all his pent up tears. “I’m sorry…” he whispered, “I’m sorry…!”

“No…” Dean sniffled, _“No!_ I can’t believe you confessed!”

“I know…” he said softly, hugging him tight, “Take care of Sam, okay? He’ll be upset about Jess. And… tell my brothers I’m sorry too.”

He shook his head. “No. You’re still not going to die, Cas! I won’t allow it!”

Castiel smiled weakly. “It’s too late, Dean. They already know. Your father is assembling the mob…”

“No,” he whispered, “We’ll run. To Pennsylvania, or Rhode Island, or wherever, and they won’t care if people think you’re a witch, and we’ll never look back!”

“Dean…” he sighed, but the other man suddenly scooped him up in his arms like a baby.

“If you keep refusing, I guess I’ll have to carry you,” he said boldly, voice shaking almost as much as his arms.

“We’ll never make it. You will only make yourself an accomplice.”

He laughed, sharply. “Do you think I care? God, Cas. What makes you think I’m prepared to live without you?”

“You are,” he said simply, “You have to be.”

Dean shook his head, already beginning to carry him out the door. “I’m not.”

The neighbors looked over at them in surprise, confused and frightened by the odd display, erupting in venomous whispers as they passed them by.

“Dean,” Cas whispered frantically, “Put me down now, or so help me I will tell everyone I bewitched you to carry me!”

He rolled his eyes. “You can’t bewitch anyone. Anyway, you’re at church more than the minister.”

“Michael likes us to keep up with our prayers…” he muttered, turning red. “I have to be there.”

“Riiiight. Anyway, speaking of your brothers, do you think they know about this?”

He chuckled humorlessly. “No doubt, with the way word travels.”

He frowned. “They’ll help us, right?”

“Not most of them. Michael won’t. He doesn't want to be associated with witchcraft,” his voice broke a little, “You saw how many of them testified against Samandriel.”

“Not Gabriel,” Dean asserted, “Gabriel would help us. And Balthazar.”

He sighed. “I suppose.”

Dean frowned at him. “Come on, Cas. What is it? Do you want to die?”

“Of course not. I just know it’s pointless, that’s all.”

“It’s not pointless,” Dean argued, turning down yet another road, ignoring the whispering erupting behind him, “I’m going to get you out of here if it’s the last thing I do.”

“We’re not moving fast enough,” Castiel noted.

“Well then, I’ll put you down, but you have to come with me.”

He hesitated, but then nodded. Being stubborn would only slow Dean down, putting him in more danger. “Alright, I promise.”

Dean smiled slightly, setting him gently on the ground. “No running off, you hear? We’re heading straight to Pennsylvania.”

“Or Rhode Island,” he laughed weakly, knowing full well that it would be impossible to get as far as either.

“That’s right,” Dean said, grinning, “Your choice. Anything you want! Just not here.”

“Do you even know the way to either of those places?”

Dean shrugged, playing with the cuffs of his doublet. “I’ll ask around.”

“But not here?”

“No. Not here. We’re done with Salem,” he muttered, scowling. “Don’t know why I never left it sooner.”

“Rhode Island is closer,” Cas put in, feeling guilty for upsetting him, “Pennsylvania is awfully far South.”

Dean smiled. “Rhode Island it is!”

They walked down Ipswich Road for a while, Dean struggling to resist the urge to grab Cas’s hand when they passed the homes of the previously accused, or especially the accusers, although most of them lived closer to Salem Village than where they lived in Salem Town. Cas sighed wistfully when they passed the Masters residence, where his friend Meg had lived until she had pissed of the wrong family. Dean shot him a concerned look, but didn't say a word.

It wasn't long before it began to get darker, and not long after that the road behind them suddenly lit up with a sea of bright, fiery lights, accompanied by loud and angry voices.

Cas breathed out a long, defeated sigh. “They've caught us.”

Dean shook his head, shoving at his back. “Not yet. Come on! Run!”

Cas shook his head, but did as he was asked. It was no use arguing. He knew Dean wouldn't run until he did.

They ran as fast as they could, hearts pounding in time to their frantic footsteps as they fled the frenzied, fanatical yells of those who had been terrified into believing, or at least who made use of fear as a weapon of their own. Dean felt a pang hearing both his father and Michael among the crowd, hoping Cas wasn't aware of the same.

They ran until they reached the fields of rye, and Dean shoved Cas off the path and into the sea of long, waving stalks, putting a finger to his lips, warning him to stay still and silent.

Cas nodded slightly, blue eyes wide with terror, grasping for his hand. If they were caught after all of this, he wasn't sure how effective his arguing would be. It could be that now they were both doomed.

The rye field whispered in the wind, like so many hushed and frightened voices, spreading accusations of the supernatural with increasing hysteria. Neither of them dared to move, listening as the footsteps of their pursuers passed by their hiding place and off further down the path. Even after the last of the footsteps had faded away, they stayed perfectly still. There was no guarantee that everyone was really gone. Who knew how many people were out hunting witches that night?

They sat there for about an hour, holding onto each other tight, barely able to see as the sun sank deeper and deeper below the horizon, and the chill of night danced with the conspiring rye, making it whisper ever louder. It was late May, and the crop was almost ready for harvest, but nobody was that concerned with the crop this year. The real crop, they all knew, was fear.

Finally, Dean let out a relieved sigh, and turned to whisper in Castiel’s ear. “I’m going to get up and see if they’re gone. Stay here, okay?”

Cas nodded quickly, eyebrows furrowed with concern. “Be careful,” he whispered back, giving him a quick hug before Dean slowly stood and began to exit the field.

The road was dark and silent, not a soul to be seen. Dean went as far as to check in all of the bushes, but nobody was waiting in ambush. The mob really had moved on. They were safe, for now.

He climbed back down into the fields, brushing branches out of his path until he found Cas again and knelt down beside him. At the insistence of his querying look, he nodded slightly. “Yeah. They’re gone.”

Cas breathed out a sigh of relief. “Thank God.”

“Well He can’t let them kill another innocent, now can He?” Dean joked darkly, prompting Cas to give him a sharp look, “Okay, okay!” he laughed, hands raised defensively, “I’m just kidding! It’s awfully dark, though. I doubt we could get any closer to Pennsylvania tonight.”

“Rhode Island,” Cas corrected him, softly.

He smiled. “Right. I guess we’re just going to have to stay here for the night. There’s cover, anyway.”

He nodded. “I only hope it will be enough, when we don’t have the dark to hide us.”

“Gosh Cas,” Dean laughed, “That sounds like something a witch would say!”

Cas shoved him, hard. “Shut up,” he muttered, although Dean glimpsed the tiniest smirk as he turned away.

He grinned. It was good to see him laugh. He needed that. “You know, maybe we should become witches. Salem wouldn't stand a chance!”

“Dean, stop!” Cas warned him through the smile in his voice.

He shook his head, scooting over to sit beside his reposed form. “I mean it. They couldn't find us in a rye field. What chance do you think they’d stand against real magic?”

“Dean…” he warned, trying very hard to keep a straight face, “You really shouldn't say such things…”

He smirked. “Oh, come on Cas! Predestination, baby! I’m already saved!”

“Oh my goodness,” Cas laughed, rolling over to shove him again, “Shut up! That’s not how it works!”

“Really?” he asked, “How does it work then, because they've got me confused!”

“Dean, just don’t,” he tried to force out through his laughter, “You shouldn't joke about these things, or at all, really!”

“Oh yeah,” Dean snorted, “I forgot. Fun is _bad!”_

Cas lost it, cracking up. “You’re the worst!” he giggled, “How are you still alive?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know, really. I’m a terrible Puritan.”

Cas rolled his eyes. “You really are.”

“That’s okay though,” Dean yawned, lying down on the ground beside him, “Because in Pennsylvania they don’t care if you’re Puritans.”

“Rhode Island,” he corrected him.

“Right.”

“Dean,” Cas sighed, the last of the hilarity fading, “When we do get to Rhode Island, if we get there, I mean, what are we going to do?”

He frowned. “What do you mean?”

“I mean we’ll have nothing,” he said quietly, “Literally nothing. How are we going to make a living? How are we going to survive?”

“Honestly?” Dean asked, shaking his head, “I don’t know. But I do know that whatever we do and wherever we go, we’ll have a better chance than we do here. Besides, we won’t have nothing! We’ll have each other.”

“I suppose…” he muttered, turning onto his back to look up at the stars, which shone brightly overhead in the absence of the moon.

“Hey,” Dean said softly, touching his arm gently, “It will be okay, you’ll see. We’ll figure things out. Everything will be fine.”

“I sure hope you’re right,” Cas sighed.

He smiled. “You know I am. Now get some rest. Big journey tomorrow.”

Cas nodded, forcing a smile in return. “I’ll try.”

“Good,” he murmured, already closing his eyes. “Goodnight, Cas.”

“Goodnight, Dean.”

* * *

  _By the pricking of my thumbs..._


	2. Something Wicked this Way Comes

_...something wicked this way comes. -Macbeth, Act 4 Scene 1_

* * *

 

Dean woke up early, heart still beating far too fast to allow him any rest. The barley fields glowed golden in the sunlight, mocking the darkness that had permeated the land. He turned over on his side to see Castiel still sleeping soundly beside him, looking almost peaceful despite the still present danger. It was long past time to get moving, but Dean didn’t want to disturb him when for the first time in months he actually looked somewhat calm and happy, breathing softly and evenly, face somehow softer and younger looking in sleep.

He sat up slowly, trying not to wake him, the only sounds the faint rustling of the crops he disturbed with his movement, and the singing of the birds in the trees along the path. He didn’t know how the birds could sing such cheerful songs, apparently unaffected by evil.

Dean slipped on his tall, felt hat, considering whether it would be fair or not to get up and burn off some of his energy while Cas was still sleeping, maybe scout a bit, and decide how to proceed. He started to get to his feet, but then decided better of it. He wouldn’t want Castiel to wake while he was away.

It was strange how quickly things had spiraled out of control in Salem. Sure, the town had always sort of had a stick up its ass, but things had never gotten so out of control as they had that year, since Abigail Williams and little Betty Parris had managed to use their antics and stinging accusations to throw the whole town into mass hysteria. Everybody was afraid of everybody and everything now. It was simple enough to become a target. Anyone could claim witchcraft, and the only requirement was the feeblest shadow of spectral evidence to feed the hungry noose. Even where that failed, plenty had already died in prison.

It was ridiculous really, that anyone could accuse Castiel. In Dean’s opinion, he seemed least likely to turn to witchcraft of almost anyone, if it even existed, which he doubted very much. Still, his family had quite the reputation in town after the unpopular parents of the Novaks who had controlled so much land and power all those years ago had deserted the church and run, only to be killed later by Indians, a disturbing parallel of their hero, one Anne Hutchinson. The townspeople had been less than sympathetic to the orphaned children they had left behind, sneering in their ears that justice had been served and they were all predestined for Hell.  It hadn’t looked good for any of them, getting jeered at and stoned in the streets as they passed, but Michael Novak had made the clever move of becoming extremely involved in the church, dragging his frightened little brothers along with him. Castiel had been very quiet since that event all those years ago, and had grown up with few social graces when Michael had pulled them all out of school after sustaining a fair amount of bullying to study the Bible at home. It had taken Dean forever to get him to open up and talk to him when Cas had started his apprenticeship with the Winchester’s family friend, the blacksmith Bobby Singer. Between their strange past, their enviable expanse of land, their unusual habits, and Michael’s overzealous attempts to prove themselves a respectable family, the Novaks had gained a lot of suspicion in the town over the years, so really it wasn’t that surprising that two of the brothers had been accused already, at least no more than it had been that Michael supported such accusations, if only to save his own hide.

Still, Dean thought, Cas really didn’t deserve this. He actually tried really hard to fit in with society, even if he was maybe a bit more reserved and awkward than he should have been, and he probably would never have gotten into any trouble if it wasn’t for Dean. Dean’s family was well-respected, so he got away with a lot, but he was far from the ideal Puritan citizen. He was far too rebellious, and he actually (God forbid) had _fun._ His father hated him for it, but Dean couldn’t help but think the other Salem residents were maybe a bit too… extreme. Admittedly, it had all only gotten worse when he’d met Cas. He’d just felt so _bad!_ They had only been kids then, Cas was 11 years old, but Puritan children never got to be young. His parents had been gone several years, and he still barely spoke, and hadn’t had any friends that Dean could see. He was a glum little figure, doing his work silently with a sort of dark, steely resolve, and gosh, the only thing Dean had wanted was to see him smile… So he had shown off a little bit, maybe, relishing every speck of laughter he managed to wrestle out of him, and when Cas had finally started talking back, if at first only to reprimand him for his efforts… Well. It had been the best feeling in the world. So maybe he had dragged the other boy into just a few too many risky situations, culminating in the kiss they’d shared the day before. It wasn’t their first, but it was the first that had been caught, and for the first time, Dean was truly seeing the consequences.

He sighed. It was all his fault, really, but of course Cas just had to be the one to pay the price.

As he sat thinking, Cas suddenly frowned in his sleep, probably plagued by nightmares again. It was time to get him up. He stood to walk back over to where he was laying, when suddenly a furious shout met his ears.

 _“Hey!”_ the man yelled, “What do you think you’re doing in my field?”

“Uh…” he said slowly, looking rapidly around the wide, empty field for any chance at escape, “Nothing?”

The man hefted his gun, and Dean ducked into the rye, crawling on his hands and knees to shake Cas awake. “Cas…” he hissed frantically, _“Cas!_ Wake up!”

Castiel’s cobalt eyes flew open, flickering up to his face. “Dean!” he gasped, “What is it?”

“We’ve been caught,” he hissed, shoving him up into a sitting position, “Come on, we have to go!”

Cas leapt to his feet, eyes wild with fear. “So soon?” he cried, and then, noticing the position of the sun in the sky, which was the pale blue of a robin’s egg, “What time is it? Why didn’t you wake me?!”

“I’m sorry,” Dean whispered, “I wanted you to get some sleep. But there’s no time for that now! Come on, run!”

He shoved at his back and Cas did as he said, flying across the field as fast as he could, Dean close behind, the shouts of the field’s owner in their ears. “Hey!” he yelled, “Aren’t you that witch?!”

Suddenly the air was full of gunfire, scattering the birds in the trees which let out desperate cries of protest, finally perturbed, and Cas clasped his hands over his ears, running ever faster. Shit, shit, shit! How the hell were they going to get out of there?

The man appeared to give up for a second, but they didn’t dare to slow down, not that it really mattered either way when he showed up with a horse. “Run!” Dean kept shouting, helplessly, “ _Run!”_

In the end, it made no difference. The man on horseback closed the distance between them rapidly, and the dirt began flying at their feet as the bullets hit the ground around them. The two let out panicked cries, but then suddenly the rider stopped, and Dean turned in confusion.

“Wait…” he said slowly, as the man lifted his gun to aim, “What is he…?”

 _“Dean!”_ Cas screamed, jumping in front of him a mere second before the gun went off.

Time seemed to freeze. Dean let out some sort of shout as the bullet sped through the air, but it was already too late to move, and there was a loud, painful boom of impact, metal against flesh and bone, as Castiel’s form crumpled weakly to the ground, hands clutching at his chest.

Time sped up again, just like a bullet, and Dean rushed forward, shoving through the rye until he got to Cas, dropping down beside him in horror. “Cas…” he whispered, his hands covering Castiel’s, moving them away from the spreading splotch of red that seeped through his velvety black doublet, _“Cas!”_

“D-Dean!” he gasped out, “Dean, I’ve been hit.”

He choked back a sob, pawing desperately at the wound, trying to stop the bleeding. “No… _no!_ You can’t be!”

Off farther into the field, the man dismounted from his horse, pulling his hat off in shock as he observed the scene before him.

“Dean…” Cas said softly, laying a hand on his, “Dean. It’s okay.”

“In what world is this okay?!” he snapped, pulling his hand away, “It’s not okay, Cas!”

He shook his head, “Dean, no. Don’t worry…”

“They shot you!” he yelled, unsure why the one man in the field had suddenly become a “they”, “They shot you, and we were so close! Why the hell shouldn’t I worry?”

Cas didn’t even wince at the swear word. “Looks like they won’t get to hang me after all,” he said softly, lips twisting into the faintest hint of a smile, contrasting oddly with the sadness and defeat in his eyes.

“They can’t do this,” Dean cried, clutching at him, “They can’t! You still get a trial!”

He laughed, weakly. “Guess I’m guilty, then.”

“No…” he whispered, “No, Cas… Stay with me, please. This is all my fault…”

The faintest hint of fire blazed in his eyes. “No. Dean. Don’t ever say that.”

“Well it is, isn’t it?” he yelled, indicating the whole field, and effectively nothing that could even possibly begin to describe what he meant. “If I hadn’t had to go and love you…!”

Cas gripped his arm. “Dean,” he said firmly, “Don’t ever apologize… for us.”

“But Cas,” he whispered, “We were going to run! To Pennsylvania!”

“Rhode Island,” he forced out weakly.

Dean let out the smallest, most painful laugh, tears already carving rivers down his face. “No… please… You can’t go!”

He shook his head again, barely mustering the strength. He’d lost too much blood already. The air was thick with it, the golden harvest stained scarlet. “Dean… Rhode Island… It wasn’t for me. I never could have made it. Go on, live without me. Tell everyone… It’s fine. The witch is dead.”

“No…” he sobbed, “I could never…! You have to get up! We can still run!”

“If you want to run…” Cas sighed, eyes flickering shut, “Go. Run yourself. To Pennsylvania.”

Dean laughed, and it was like knives in his chest. “Rhode Island.”

Cas smiled up at him, as if his face were something more, perhaps the rising sun. “Right.”

Dean grabbed him into a hug, sobbing into his shoulders, and slowly, gently Cas pressed one last kiss to his lips. “Tell them… that was more witchcraft,” he whispered in his ear, and he spoke no more, going limp and cold in his arms, his bright blue eyes dead and blank, the faintest smile still on his face as Dean continued to hold him and cry.

Slowly, cautiously, the farmer stepped forward, through the rye to come and face what he’d done. He said nothing of consequence, just shifted uncomfortably and let out a small “Oh.” He seemed surprised by the outcome of his actions, and Dean suspected he had merely been caught up in the moment, the fear and excitement and thrill of the chase, and hadn’t truly meant to kill anyone at all.

They just stayed there in silence for a while, Dean sobbing over the body of his lost love, the farmer standing by in a respectful vigil of shock and horror, not daring to approach them. Finally, he managed to choke out some words. “What was his name?” he asked. He’d heard there was a witch and he’d shot him, and he didn’t even know his name.

“Castiel,” Dean forced out through his tears, “Castiel Novak.”

The man didn’t know quite how to respond to that, so he only nodded. “A Novak, huh?” he asked finally, “And he was a witch?”

“No,” Dean sniffed, “Not a witch. He was a victim.”

The man flinched. “I’m sorry.”

He shook his head, raising his eyes to look at him. “Don’t be. I didn’t mean a victim of yours. I’d fancy that you’re a victim too. A victim of this,” he lifted his hands to indicate the field, and everything around them, this time actually catching everything, “All of this.”

Despite the ambiguity of that statement, the man nodded. “Perhaps,” he said, in an odd tone of voice, “But I won’t be made a victim again.”

Dean back nodded at him, gratefully, drying his eyes with his sleeve. “No,” he said, “Nor will I.”

They both peered down with Cas, an innumerable sadness between them.

Finally, the man spoke again. “Do you think this will ever end?”

“What?” Dean asked, even though he knew.

The man shrugged, indicating the field, indicating Salem, Massachusetts, and the entire sick and corrupted, murderous world. “All of this.”

Dean thought for a moment, and shrugged. “It has to,” he said simply, “I’m going to make it.”

* * *

_The only thing we have to fear is fear itself - Franklin D. Roosevelt, First Inaugural Address_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, that was a Twist and Shout reference.


	3. Epilogue

Dean Winchester did eventually move to Rhode Island, but not before he spent some time in Massachusetts, trying to right a great wrong. It was the witch hunt of the century, not for an actual witch, of course, but for the end to something that never should have begun in the first place.

It turned out the man in the field who had himself been a victim of the hysteria of the day had a friend who had a neighbor who had a wife who had a friend who had a neighbor who had a cousin who had a friend who just so happened to be William Phips, the governor of Massachusetts. Dean and the man from the field made it their mission to convince Phips that something was very wrong in Salem, and something had to be done. In fact, by October, Phips was already instating changes that would help to burn the Salem witch trials to the ground, leaving it as nothing but a dark and disturbing stain on the face of history.

The Novak family was infuriated to hear of the fate of their youngest remaining brother, without even a fair (or rather unfair) trial in his favor, and finally they began to fight back against the witch trials as well. At first it was just a subtle anger when anyone mentioned anything regarding witchcraft, or Castiel’s fate, but their resistance came to a head when Dean was himself accused of witchcraft for his defiance, and every one of them, including a reluctant Michael, stood up boldly for him in their brother’s stead. Dean never had to stay in jail more than a night.

The Moores, confused and embarrassed by the crumbling strength of the trials, and the light shed on Dean’s innocence, eventually accepted Sam’s proposal, and Sam, his new wife Jess supporting him every step of the way, became an influential lawyer, fighting against the unfair nature of the witch trials and their spectral evidence. Even after he moved away, Dean still got letters from them, from time to time.

John Winchester, unfortunately, never changed, and continued to say how Castiel was a witch, and therefore deserved to die in the first place. Dean never spoke to him again.

Dean finally left for Rhode Island two years after the end of the trials, and was sure to join in the fast in 1697 commemorating the tragedy at Salem. He gave up all pretenses of being a part of the Puritan faith, which had never really fit him anyway, settling on a vague theism of some sort. Really it didn’t matter where he ended up where he died, as long as Cas was there waiting.

The sun rose on Salem, Massachusetts, bringing something new. It brought hope.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> By the way, I think I should mention that this isn't actually meant to be an attack of any sort on the Puritan faith, just the fanatical extreme it was historically taken to at the time. Believe whatever you want, but for goodness' sake, don't hang people as witches!


End file.
